


Best Friends and Other Inconveniences

by grammarglamour



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: M/M, Married Life, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 03:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18023957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grammarglamour/pseuds/grammarglamour
Summary: Clay and Tony adopt a dog.





	Best Friends and Other Inconveniences

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this to my best friend, Erni

Best Friends and Other Inconveniences

 

Tony

 

It had been Clay’s idea, and at first, Tony hated it. He had nothing against dogs – in fact, the opposite: He had always wanted a dog and never got one. But he hated it because it meant that he would have to divulge a secret about himself that he had never told anyone.

He liked small, yappy dogs.

Being as charmingly butch as he was, he had always felt like people expected him to like pit bulls and similar types. Maybe he even expected that of himself. But the reality was that he liked small dogs that walked officiously with their tails in the air, showing off their butts, heads held high as they assessed threats they’d never be able to match up. He liked dogs that growled, _awoo_ ’d, and yapped at every possible stranger or unknown situation. Pit bulls were fine, as were any of the boxer-shepherd-lab mixes anyone could find at any local rescue or shelter. If the right pit came along, he wouldn’t turn his nose up at it. But if he had his way, they’d be opening their home to a little mutt that would fit in their pockets.

(Pits, he noted, were always pits in his neighborhood, but cutesy names like “pibbles” in the more affluent areas. He could tell where a person was from by the way they referred to those dogs.)

But Clay was relentless when he was onto something, and he was onto the dog thing hard. He brought it up at meals, texted Petfinder links to Tony throughout the day, and pointed out cute dogs wherever they went. He seemed to be subscribed to every cute-dog meme page and forum, and evenings were punctuated with “look at this good boy” and a picture of – Tony had to admit – some really fucking cute dogs.

Clay didn’t seem to be discriminate in the type he liked, showing Tony pictures of Samoyeds, greyhounds, Yorkies, and everything in between. They agreed that in the end, they’d go to a shelter or a rescue, but in the meantime, Clay fawned over every kind of dog.

But he had to pay the piper eventually, and his undoing came in the form of a small black dog the size of a loaf of bread.

Clay had driven them to the Wal-Plex to load up on toilet paper and whatever else one got from the Wal-Plex, which honestly seemed like any- and everything. Tony hadn’t been suspicious at first, weekend visits to the Wal-Plex being normal and all, but then he remembered there was a Pet Barn next to it. And as they rounded the corner into the parking lot, he was hardly surprised to see crates stacked up outside with dogs jumping around inside them.

“Dammit, Clay!”

“What? It won’t hurt to look.”

“Yes, it will,” Tony protested, slamming the door of the Prius – unsatisfying as compared to the steel _thunk_ his own car offered. “We’ll see all the cute little dogs and want to take all of them home.”

“Oh come on,” Clay said, coming around the car to stand next to Tony. He put his hands on Tony’s hips, a surefire way to get Tony to calm down. “Have you liked every dog you ever met?”

“Well, no. But I feel bad for them.”

“These dogs are getting fostered by a rescue non-profit. They aren’t off the streets facing some kill shelter needle.” Clay had an affectionately exasperated look on his face with furrowed brows and a shadow of a smile tickling his lips.

“Fine. But any hint of taking more than one, and I’m dragging you out of there by your belt loops.”

Clay kissed him on the forehead to show that he bore no hard feelings and led him by the hand over to where the dogs were.

The dogs fell into two categories: Pit mixes and chihuahua mixes. All the small dogs bore either the bat ears or bug eyes of chihuahuas, and the larger ones had the short hair and muscled bodies of pits. It made Tony sad and angry to think about people getting hold of these dogs only to let them go, whether on purpose or not.

Clay had wandered off to look at a small, bluish tank of a pit bull with the classic big, woody head. She was a beautiful animal, Tony knew, but a look into her eyes told him that the lights were on, but no one was home. He didn’t want a dull dog wandering under his feet. It needed a personality beyond “sweet”.

And then he saw him.

A little guy, black with tan feet, sitting placidly in his crate and tracing Tony’s every move with quick, jewel-bright eyes. The dog stared straight at him, assessing him in total silence – a massive contrast to the uneasy cacophony that surrounded them. Tony walked up to the crate – stacked atop another crate, containing a quavering dun-colored chihuahua – and stuck a finger in. The dog sniffed it before rubbing his head against it. The fur was thick and smooth.

“This one,” Tony said out loud, surprising himself as much as Clay, who turned and looked at him as though _he_ might be the dumb beast in need of rescuing.

“Excuse me?”

“This one,” Tony repeated as the dog sniffed and licked his fingers through the crate. “We’re getting this dog.”

“Tony, maybe we should—”

“He’s the only one who isn’t barking.”

Clay considered this, and stared appraisingly at the dog, who in turn stared back at Clay and put a paw through the cage as though asking for a handshake. This, Clay gave, stroking the small paw. Tony might have imagined it, but he could swear that the dog nodded at Clay and then looked back at Tony.

It took them twenty minutes to flag down a harried volunteer, though once they asserted that they wanted to see that particular dog and were serious about adopting, the volunteers all but rolled out the red carpet for them – which in this case amounted to finding them a chair to sit in that wasn’t covered in leashes and dog treat crumbs, but Tony knew that was something. They sat together with the dog pacing from lap to lap and filled out the adoption papers, assuring the rescue group that they had the space to house the dog, the means to care for it, and the maturity to do so. They paid the $250 adoption fee and that was it. They now had a dog.

Back in the store, they got out a cart and put the little guy in the front basket. He sat there and stared at his new humans, one ear up and the other one folded down, eyebrows up expectantly. He shifted on his front paws impatiently as Tony and Clay stared back.

“We have a dog,” Tony said.

“A small dog.”

“We’re dog dads.”

Clay giggled. “Dog dad afternoon.”

“Well, at least you have the dad joke thing on lock already.”

“Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrr,” said the dog.

“Quiet, you,” Clay said, and the dog huffed.

They went throughout the store, plucking food, toys, a bed, and all the things a dog might need to start his new life with his new family. As they shopped, the dog stood at the back of the cart, paws up, like a captain at the helm of a ship. He surveyed the store and wagged his tail enthusiastically as they wheeled along. At checkout time, he climbed into Tony’s arms and clung fast to him.

“You’re coming home with us, don’t worry,” he told the dog, who gave no material sign that he understood.

Walking out, Tony made it a point not to even look at the other dogs. They only needed one for now, and if this one needed a buddy, there were plenty more out there for him.

“Did you even need anything at the Wal-Plex?” he asked as Clay loaded their new dog’s new stuff into the car.

Clay smiled sheepishly. “Not really.”

“You’re the worst,” Tony groused.

“I’d be more inclined to believe you if you didn’t look so damn happy about this dog,” he said, lifting the little guy from Tony’s arms. The dog growled a little until he seemed to put it together that they were both in his new pack, at which time he burrowed close to Clay’s neck and licked his cheek.

“Okay, well, I – I mean – he’s a damn good boy.”

“Uh-huh.” Clay handed him back to Tony and they went home.

***

Life with Rocco – as they named him – was completely different than their previous life. Tony was in awe that ten pounds of dog could shape the lives of two grown men. They got woken up at four a.m. when he bounded out of bed and through the doggy door for his morning constitutional. They had to contend with big, hungry eyes as they ate, and when they tried to put him in his crate during meals, they had to contend with whining. They had to deal with Rocco’s ideas of what was important during neighborhood walks – ideas that mostly revolved around sniffing at things for prolonged periods of time.

And then there was the time they tried to have sex and didn’t consider the dog.

It wasn’t exactly planned, but then again, they were both twenty-five and newly married, so it stood to reason that sex was on the table to some extent at any given time they were together, and even sometimes when they were apart if you counted dirty texts and misuse of video chatting.

So one night, as it often did, the mood overtook them as they lay in bed and one thing led to another. It was gearing up to be a good one – one of those nights when the energy flowed and every move Tony made seemed to be in step with Clay. It was good enough that among all the movement, no one noticed an extra body wriggling into the sheets until Tony yelped as a wet nose came into contact with his butt. He flung himself off of Clay and laid back with the sheets pulled up close around him. Clay, unhelpful to the extreme, laid there laughing at him until his face was pink and splotchy. Rocco, happy to be included, popped his head out from under the covers.

“Goddammit,” Tony said.

Clay tried to say something, but it got lost in the wheezing as he laughed.

He wanted to be mad about it, but Clay’s laughter was contagious, the dog had a perfect mixture of confusion and contrition on his face, and his hard-on had disappeared. He had no choice but to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

When they finally calmed down, Tony grabbed the dog and put him outside the bedroom door and shut it as he looked up, still confused. They got back to business, but the energy couldn’t be recaptured, particularly since every couple minutes, Rocco scratched at the door and whined piteously. After the fact, they cleaned up and Clay let Rocco back into the room. He bounded up onto the bed like nothing had happened, snuggling in between them and falling asleep immediately. His presence under the duvet was like a hot brick, heating it uncomfortably, but Tony didn’t have it in him to kick Rocco out. He tented up the covers and looked down at him curled in between them, back against Clay’s leg and paws resting on Tony’s.

Clay switched off the light and turned onto his side, causing Rocco to growl and shift in discontent.

“Does this mean we need to, like, _plan_?” Clay asked.

“Plan what? Having sex?”

“Yeah.”

Tony shrugged. “I guess. Or at least remember to toss him out when we get started.”

“Man, they don’t tell you this shit at the adoption events, huh?”

“No, they do not,” Tony said with a rueful chuckle.

Another thing that no one mentioned at adoption events: Dogs did crazy shit when they had separation anxiety. They had been so far spared, but the morning after this incident, that run ended. Exiting the bedroom, they marveled at the sheer amount of toilet paper, pillow stuffing, and chewed blanket that was strewn about the hallway and into the living room. It looked like a child’s weather diorama gone horribly awry. Then the smell hit them, causing both to gag and chastise the dog, who high-tailed it out the doggy door in regretful knowledge of what he had done.

“Oh god,” Clay said, hand over his nose.

“What the fuck did we feed him?” Tony asked, amazed at the smell, which combined a scent of wet dirt, moldy fruit, and rotting beef.

The pile itself was dead center in the living room, and the only salvation was the fact that it was solid and that it hadn’t been mashed into the surrounding throw pillow/toilet paper/blanket massacre.

“What do we even do?” Clay asked, half-heartedly beginning to pick up piles of fiber and gather them into a heap.

Tony went into the backyard to retrieve Rocco, who had planted himself under a patio chair. He pulled him out and brought him inside to the scene of the crime, emphatically pointing at the poop and saying “No!” Rocco flattened his ears and furrowed his eyebrows.

Not satisfied that Rocco had gotten the point, but also not wanting to spend his day holding his dog over a pile of shit, Tony put him down. He scampered back outside with a whimper and his dads set to the unpleasant task of starting their morning cleaning up.

***

All things considered, Tony guessed these inconveniences were small prices to pay for the unbridled, unconditional, and unquestioning companionship of a dog. Rocco – like most dogs – was a simple creature who needed only food, water, shelter, and the love of his humans to survive. He snuggled with them in bed and greeted them exuberantly when they came home from being anywhere – no matter if they popped down to the store for twenty minutes or were gone an entire work day. He was cute and furry, loved his toys, and regularly made them laugh with his tiny growls contributing to conversations. So what if they had to plan their sex life so they could crate him? So what if they had to plan vacations more carefully to accommodate him? He was still cheaper and easier than a kid, and both were reasonably certain he wouldn’t ever call them from jail or vote for an extremist right-wing group, as some human children might do. And so they rocked along with this new addition to their little family. Tony’s mom spoiled him with treats while his sister lavished attention on him and Julio’s kids played ball with him. Clay’s parents bought him a thunder-shirt one Fourth of July, which he seemed to appreciate, as fireworks were not his thing.

All the while, unbeknownst to Rocco and simply unnoticed by Clay and Tony, it had brought the humans in the equation closer together. No matter what happened – a fight, a missed dinner, an umbrage-inducing accidental flirtation with a mutual friend (that last one was all Tony) – they had to take care of and talk about the dog. Tony wouldn’t say it kept them together, but he knew it kept them honest. And if anyone forgot it, if anyone got too high on his horse, it was his turn next time to clean up the poop.


End file.
